


Rescue

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Make her naked'. Those three words that made me, and I'm sure many more of you, feel a trickle of fear run down our spines. It got me thinking, I wonder what would have happened if Sandor had found it within himself to intervene before Tyrion had the chance to. This is what could have happened.</p><p>I changed the opening scene around a bit~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue

Sandor felt his breath become ragged.  
 _Stay still._  
He kept his eyes on the ceiling.  
 _Guard the king._  
His grip on his sword hilt tightened.  
 _Look away._  
He repeated his rules as he tried to ignore the girl’s cries of pain as the whip came slashing down on her bare skin. He must do his duty. Sandor had watched dozens of whippings before, under the King’s orders, so why was this one bothering him so much? He winced every time the whip came down on her.  
He felt every slash on her back and choked on every one of her pain filled cries. Sandor closed his eyes, attempting to block out the sight. He quickly glanced at her; her bright auburn hair was tangled, her usual shy and innocent expression replaced by one of pain. He bit his lip as she threw up a scream that went straight through him.  
‘Damn it’. He muttered.  
At first she had tried to be brave, as though the wolf inside of her was giving one final snarl of defiance, but the pain had been too great and lasted too long. In the end she was just a little girl.  
That last thought stayed with him as he watched the blood trickle down her pale back, her dress ripped open at the back for the whipping.  
Her screams took him back to a moment in time when his screams came unwillingly as he was held against open flames. He felt his skin split open, searing pain tearing against his cheek, blinding him with agony. But worst of all, was the fact that his attacker was his very own brother. Sandor remembered looking helplessly back at the little toy knight lying discarded on the floor; the cause of the violence against him.  
No one came to help him then, but could he help the girl?  
No. He shoved the thought aside.  
 _‘Stay still, guard the King, look away,’_ he thought.  
But this time the words seemed like wind as he watched his little bird fall to pieces on the floor. Tearing his attention away from Sansa, he focused it on the king.  
 _‘The little fucking brat’._ He thought, a snarl forming on his lips.  
Joffrey paraded around Sansa, laughing hysterically. He suddenly leaned forward and slapped her across the cheek, hard, leaving a red mark. Sandor distracted himself by thinking of all the hideous ways he could kill Joffrey right now. This had become an amusing past time for Sandor ever since Joffrey had turned his sadistic attention on Sansa.  
Not long ago Sandor had followed Joffrey’s orders without fail, but he had found that as of late his thoughts had turned nasty. Yes, he still did as he was told; but his mind was brimming with treasonous thoughts.  
Joffrey leered at Sansa’s vulnerable body with lecherous eyes.  
‘Make her naked’, he muttered, a wild grin spreading on his face.  
Sandor felt rage building in him.  
 _‘Fuck me’,_ he thought, letting his anger consume his body.  
Attempting to stay calm, he took a deep breath. ‘Enough’, he said quietly.  
Joffrey threw him a glance, as his fun was interrupted. ‘Quiet, dog.’  
The guards began to remove Sansa’s arms from her dress while she sobbed uncontrollably.  
‘I SAID THAT’S ENOUGH!’ Sandor roared.  
His voice echoed around the room as he marched towards Joffrey, towering over him, his face like a snarling dog. At first Joffrey tilted his chin up defiantly but Sandor’s face made him cower like the child he was.  
‘Leave the girl alone’, Sandor growled, drawing himself up to full height.  
Joffrey curled his hands into fists, but he was shaking like a leaf. Sandor would no longer take commands from someone as weak and pathetic as this kid.  
‘N-No, she’s _mine!’_ Joffrey stammered.  
Sandor leaned in, his face inches away from the king’s.  
‘Touch her again’, he said calmly. ‘And I’ll rip your throat out.’  
Joffrey’s big eyes widened. ‘D-Did you hear what you said? He threatened me!’ He began edging back. ‘He threatened the king! Guards, seize him!’  
Sandor turned to face the guards, slowly rotating round; his expression almost daring them to make a move. But they seemed to have forgotten their jobs and merely stared at each other uncertainly. No one wanted to make an enemy out of The Hound.  
But it appeared that someone hadn’t got the memo. A sudden pain slashed Sandor in the back of his neck. He roared and turned around to face his assailant. The boy seemed quite young. Perhaps he wanted to be a fucking knight someday, trying to be the fucking hero. He held the sword near the floor; staring down at it and back up to Sandor as though just realising what he had done. Sandor didn’t hesitate; he slashed the boy across his arm. The boy shrieked in pain and fell back, but Sandor knew it wasn’t a fatal wound. It felt good though.  
Sandor turned his attention back on Joffrey who hadn’t moved, then at Sansa, who had feinted on the floor; from blood lose he presumed. With one last look at his king and his guards, Sandor bent down and picked up Sansa; slinging her over his shoulder and walked out of the room.  
‘What the fuck am I doing?’ Sandor thought, sudden doubts entering his head as he strode down the corridor towards the entrance to the city. ‘This is a bloody stupid idea.’  
But he looked at Sansa’s blood stained back and thought of the mad look in Joffrey’s eyes and knew he had made the right choice. He would no longer stand back and let that little brat order him around or hurt the little bird.  
He winced in pain as his neck began to throb where the boy had cut him. He wiped the wound quickly and his hand came away covered in blood. He cursed and wiped it on his armour, ignoring it.  
The castle was eerily quiet due to it being early morning. All around he could hear the castle waking up; the smell of honey wafted from the kitchens and through the windows he could see the sun beginning to rise.  
He found Sansa was very light to hold, her auburn hair tickled his chin as he walked. He smiled, happy that she was finally free from her cage.  
But what would she say when she woke up? Sansa would find herself alone with a much older, male, vicious killer. No matter how good Sandor’s intentions, she was still afraid of him.  
He felt a pang in his heart as he thought of that. But figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.  
They reached the stables in no time and Sandor saddled up his huge, black horse. He gently eased Sansa into the saddle and sat behind her. She was slumped forward, still unconscious, so Sandor made sure to keep his arms tight around her as he took the reins.  
He gritted his teeth and nudged his horse, hard. Stranger reared up, and they galloped through the streets of King’s Landing. The houses went past in a blur; the smell of shit wafted up from the drains and Sandor wrinkled his nose. That was something he would not miss about this city.  
As they clattered through the streets, it occurred to Sandor that it seemed like one of Sansa’s stories where a knight comes rescue the princess and they ride away together. He rolled his eyes at the thought and in his anger at the irony of his situation, lashed out with his sword; knocking over a barrel.  
He had been so focused on his job for so long that Sandor hadn’t ever contemplated leaving, after all there was nothing for him waiting outside those city gates. So long as the Lannisters didn’t ask him to do something he was against, he figured he’d stay with them.  
His upper lip curled in a snarl as he thought back to Sansa’s cries of pain and knew he would never go back. Anyone who abused the weak were disgusting in Sandor’s eyes.  
Suddenly the memory of all those years ago resurfaced; the smell of burning flesh and the sound of his screams washed over him. He didn’t like to think of that day; it churned up his emotions and made him feel weak and sick. The only thing he focused on about that memory was his brother. And how much Sandor would enjoy flaying him.  
But he shook his head. These thoughts were dangerous and he didn’t want to show that side of himself to Sansa, she was so fragile that he felt even the smallest flicker of danger in his eyes would send her running.  
He looked down at her face. She looked thinner than the last time he saw her and her skin wasn’t its usual ivory but a sickly white. He frowned but turned his attention to the road ahead. The city gates were up ahead and open. Sandor grinned. Straggling merchants were just beginning to enter the city; ready to sell their wares for the day, which allowed Sandor a perfect exit.  
He urged his horse forward and they sailed through the gates and out into the land beyond. Before them lay forests, which Sandor headed straight toward. He wished to remain undetected, and by taking the King’s Road he would surely be recognised. Whilst Sandor was the most feared man in the city, he still didn’t want to take any chances. Not with Sansa in his arms.  
Moss covered the floor of the forest; tree roots clambering up through the undergrowth and he could hear a single bird singing through the leaves. They rode through the forest for a couple of hours until around mid day when Sandor found what he was looking for. He trotted over to the river and dismounted; gently lowering Sansa onto the ground. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate how pretty she looked with her long hair laid out around her head; her soft white skin looking crisp against the deep green of the moss, before pushing the thought away and carefully turning her over.  
Sandor winced at the look of her wounds. Usually he was absolutely fine with wounds and blood, as he was often the cause, but it didn’t look right on Sansa’s delicate body.  
He tore off a piece of his under shirt and strode over to the river, rinsing it in the cool water then walked back to Sansa and dabbed her wounds with the rag, gently. He was very aware that he was pretty much touching her naked flesh so he stopped after only a few moments. Sandor sat back and stared at the way Sansa’s soft breathing made a lock of her hair flutter. He found it soothing to watch. He observed the way her long , dark eyelashes were curved perfectly, the way her mouth lay slightly open; her lips a peachy pink.  
A cool breeze swept past Sandor and he closed his eyes, savouring the tranquillity of the moment. It had been a long time since he had felt so peaceful; being so used to the rigid and unrelenting work he performed and the never ending activity in the city. It was nice to just simply be.  
Suddenly he heard a rustling sound and his eyes snapped open. Sansa rolled over onto her back and sat up, sleepily. She looked around, confused, until her eyes landed on Sandor. She yelped and began to crawl backwards away from him. He inched forward slightly.  
‘It’s alright. I won’t hurt you’. He said, his voice deep and growly.  
Sansa seemed unconvinced and looked around desperately.  
‘Where am I? How did I get here?’ She asked, panic rising in her voice.  
Sandor gave her a measured gaze. ‘I took you away from King’s Landing.’  
She stared at him, confused at first and even slightly scared. But suddenly a small smile appeared on her face.  
‘You rescued me?’ She asked.  
Sandor noted her choice of verb, annoyed, but nodded.  
Sansa looked at him searchingly. ‘Why?’  
‘Because...’ He began, but trailed off, turning away. After all, how could he explain something that he didn’t understand himself?  
When he faced her again, she was looking at him strangely; he thought he saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes.  
Eventually he took a deep sigh. ‘You should wash your wounds, they’re pretty deep.’  
She nodded, a slight smile playing on her lips.  
Sandor got up and began taking off his armour. He was just removing his final top layer when he became aware of Sansa’s gaze. She seemed afraid again and put her arms over her chest defensively.  
Sandor raised his eyebrows and gestured to the river. ‘I’m going to wash.’  
Sansa blushed at her accusing thoughts and kept her gaze down as Sandor lowered himself into the river.  
‘Bloody hell’, he muttered as the icy water hit him.  
He heard a soft giggle from behind and he looked up to see Sansa laughing. It was such a sweet sound and not one that Sandor had heard before. She smiled at him, shyly.  
He turned away, hiding his smile, and busied himself washing the blood off his hands. He heard Sansa pad over and sit down. She hesitantly lowered her feet into the water, squealing at the temperature. Sandor found her the rag he had used earlier and Sansa began cleaning her wounds.  
Sandor watched her struggling to reach the centre of her back, scrunching up her face with effort.  
He chuckled. ‘Want me to help?’  
Sansa blushed a deep red and nodded, turning round so he could get to her back. She sat elegantly and Sandor took note of how slender her neck was. He shoved the thought aside and began wiping down her skin, gently, afraid to hurt her. He began to find it quite soothing; it was satisfying watching the red disappear, leaving the skin smooth and pale.  
‘All done’. He muttered.  
Sansa turned around and thanked him, smiling. Suddenly her smile disappeared and she gestured to his chest.  
‘D-D- Are you hurt?’ She exclaimed.  
Sandor looked down, confused, and noticed a trickle of blood had fallen from his neck wound. He had completely forgotten.  
‘I’m fine’, he said.  
Sansa shook her head. ‘No you are not fine! I-I’ll wash it for you.’  
Sandor watched, amused, as a red heat wave washed over her chest and face. Grinning, curious, he turned around and sat down in the water so she could reach his neck easily.  
‘Is this from earlier?’ She whispered.  
‘Yeah. Some little prick.’  
He heard Sansa take a deep breath and exhale, shakily. He felt her long fingers brush his hair off his neck and cool water trickling down his back. Sandor felt goose bumps rising on his arms, unsure whether the reason was the water or her touch.  
As Sansa continued to rhythmically stroke his neck with the rag, Sandor began to find himself feeling tired. Joffrey had woken them up in the small hours of the morning; dragging them from their beds to watch Sansa’s beating, so neither of them had sleep for very long. He felt his eyelids becoming heavy and himself beginning to curl over.  
He gave a huge yawn, stretching his big arms in front of him. He heard Sansa give a soft yawn too, followed by a giggle and he laughed along with her.  
‘You wanna get some rest?’ He asked, turning round. ‘Being unconscious doesn’t count, I don’t think.’  
She nodded, sleepily, and half crawled back to where his horse was sleeping. Right then and there she curled up and closed her eyes.  
Sandor chuckled. ‘She must have really been exhausted. But then that’s not surprising...’. His thoughts soured as Sansa’s screams echoed through his mind.  
He lay down near her, staring up at the sky. He had lost all sense of time, but it didn’t really matter. He guessed it was around early evening, if the temperature was anything to go by. The sky was a pale blue; there was no sun to be seen but the sky was filled with clouds. He had meant to keep watch for outlaws and the like, just in case, but he found himself being constantly drawn back to Sansa.  
He looked over to her and noticed she was shivering in her sleep. He watched her for a while, deliberating to what to do, before he eventually leaned over, scooped her up and brought her gently into him so her back was resting against his stomach. Not long after, Sandor felt her begin to warm up and stop shivering. He could feel her gentle heartbeat and it scared Sandor at how vulnerable it sounded.  
He curled his arms around her a little tighter. ‘I will protect you’, he whispered.  
When Sandor next awoke it was early the next morning. He felt his stomach growl, loudly, and he gently disentangled himself from Sansa and stood up. He gave her once last fleeting look before grabbing his sword and heading into the trees in search of food.  
He had no luck, however; letting three deer and a rabbit get away. He cursed under his breath, blaming it on his exhaustion. Sandor walked back to their spot, miserable and hungry, to find Sansa sitting patiently. He walked over to her and she extended her hands which were cupping dozens of little blue berries. He frowned at her.  
She giggled. ‘Don’t worry, they’re not poisonous.’  
Sandor sat down in front of her, hesitantly, and popped a berry in mouth. A sweet juice burst in his mouth and trickled down his throat. Sansa did the same but missed a bit and the juice stained her lip a deep red. Sandor stared at her lips, finding himself unable to look away. He was suddenly pulled back by the sound of Sansa’s laughter.  
‘What is it?’ He asked.  
She shook her head still laughing. ‘It’s just; you looked so funny with those tiny berries in your big hands!’  
She blushed and looked away, suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Sandor smiled, finishing off his berries.  
‘So how did you know those berries weren’t dangerous?’ He asked.  
Sansa kept her gaze down, smiling sadly. ‘When I was little, my sister and I would play in the forest. I would make daisy chains but Arya loved picking mushrooms and berries. Anyway one day the maester decided she should learn about all the different kinds, since she loved them so much and she taught me.’  
Sansa looked up, her gaze far away for several moments before dragging herself back into reality. She narrowed her eyes slightly at Sandor.  
‘I heard...’ She began, struggling to find the right words. ‘How you got the...’ She trailed off, gesturing to his scarred cheek.  
Sandor’s expression darkened and he averted his gaze. This was not a conversation he thought they’d be having. This was the burden he carried all his life, a constant reminder of the twisted creature he truly was. It represented his hatred for his brother, his anger, it was all everyone saw. No one had ever looked beyond that scar. They saw him as a hideous beast and that was all they would ever see.  
‘Fuck them’, he thought.  
‘I’m sorry about what happened to you’, she said in a soft voice.  
Sandor whirled around and stared at Sansa, bewildered. Her eyes were large and her expression was concerned. What was that look on her face, was it guilt? Pain? It seemed as though she sympathised with him. No one ever sympathised with Sandor Clegane. No one had ever bothered to look behind the scar to see the human underneath. He felt his heart beat quicken at that last thought; was Sansa seeing him for what he truly was?  
He cleared his throat, feeling awkward. ‘It was a long time ago.’  
Sansa had a strange smile on her face as she reached up and lightly touched her bruised cheek. ‘Perhaps we’re not so different’.  
After that, Sandor felt more at ease with Sansa, as though their bond had deepened somehow. She often talked about her childhood and family, always with a certain sadness in her voice, and he listened intently; whilst Sandor didn’t enjoy talking about himself, he liked listening to the sound of Sansa’s pretty voice and her dreams for the future.  
Sandor often caught their food and they lived off berries and meat. At first Sansa had been horrified at the idea of killing innocent animals, until she tasted some of Sandor’s spit-roasted pheasant.  
One day, as they were walking beside the river, Sandor suddenly had an amusing idea. He quickly picked Sansa up and chucked her into the water. She didn’t resurface for some time, but when she did she glared at Sandor. He froze, wondering if he’d gone too far, but she grinned and grabbed his ankle, pulling him into the river.  
The water was cool and refreshing after a long day of walking in the heat. He came up for air and laughed with Sansa at themselves. They stayed in the river for hours; Sandor tickling Sansa until she couldn’t breathe from laughing and Sansa attempting to dunk him by grabbing onto his neck, but of course he was too strong.  
That evening they came across a large barley field, bathed in the golden light of the sun. Sansa squealed with delight and went running through the field; her arms outstretched, feeling the buds tickle her palms. Sandor watched her go with an affectionate smile; a blur of gold and chestnut.  
Suddenly she fell down, out of sight. Sandor froze. He ran over to her, but she was on her back laughing.  
He chuckled, unsure. ‘You ok?’  
Sansa nodded. ‘I think I twisted my ankle though.’  
Sandor yanked her up and let her clamber up onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder. Sandor felt her warm breath tickle his neck and found himself becoming very aware of her body pressed into his. He took a deep breath before walking through the field.  
Sansa sighed. ‘I wish we could stay like this.’  
‘And why’s that?’  
‘Because...’ she began. ‘Being with you is nice.’  
Sandor felt his heart twinge as his mind fluttered with hope before slowly dying back down.  
‘You wouldn’t be happy with someone like me’, Sandor said, gruffly.  
‘But I already am’, she protested.  
Sandor stopped and swung Sansa round, putting her on the ground in front of him.  
‘I mean it, Sansa, your head’s full of white horses and knights and I’m... nothing like that’ He muttered. ‘You deserve someone better.’  
Sansa stared up at him defiantly for a few moments before slowly taking his hand in hers and lifting it to her chest. His eyes widened as he felt her heart beat racing, like a little bird trapped in a cage, longing to break free.  
He stared at her, uncertain of what to do. He looked into her sparkling blue eyes, full of anxiety. Without thinking any more, he drew her in slowly and kissed her forehead, softly. He held her there for a few moments, savouring the moment of tranquillity before they inevitably gave way to their feelings. He pulled her chin up to him and kissed her lips with a kind of gentle longing; afraid of pressing too hard in case he frightened her. He broke away from her, but Sansa pressed forward and kissed him harder, and he felt her mouth open slightly before breaking away. He leaned in, eager to continue, but Sansa smiled at him mischievously.  
‘Is that a challenge?’ He asked, grinning.  
Sansa shrieked with laughter and ran away from him as he began to chase her through the golden fields.  
The little bird fluttered around the dog, teasing, as he jumped up at her playfully.


End file.
